


Of Shirtwaists & Bells

by HeidiErickson (orphan_account)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (It's based on a tragic historical event soooo...), Adorable Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Once Upon a Time Fusion, Background Relationships, Dorks in Love, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Good!Regina, Happy Ending, Humor, Lady Belle, Other, Romance, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2016, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Teen Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Tragedy, Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, Woobie Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Young Emma, some historical inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HeidiErickson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruaraidh Sangster, or mockingly named Rumplestiltskin by his bosses, is the supervisor of the 8th floor in 1910 Manhattan's Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. Though his job puts him in a slightly more privileged position over his coworkers, Rumple is still poor and his only love is for his son, Bae.</p><p>When Belle Tailler, the shirtwaist factory owner's daughter, enters his life and befriends Bae, it is all Rumple can do to try to guard his heart from Belle, for who could ever love a poor, crippled spinner?</p><p>And amidst a sudden tragedy, Belle must come to terms with her corrupt family's background - and choose to follow her father's footsteps - or choose true love, no matter where it is from . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Shirtwaists & Bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecompletebookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecompletebookworm/gifts).



> Rumbelle Christmas July 2016 was last week. And I'm late. And this did not turn out the way I planned it, mostly because I was in a hurry. But I did my best, I did, I did, all because . . .
> 
> Charlotte, or thecompletebookworm from Tumblr, you truly are one of the best, and you deserve the very best. Over the summer, we have not talked much, and yet I have learned so much about you that just makes me want to learn more about you. You are amazing and kind and gracious and patient, and I couldn't possibly compare you to my past giftees, but neither are you any less than them. I'm so happy you were picked to be my giftee this summer, and I certainly don't deserve an awesome friend like you!! :'-) :-D
> 
> I also want to thank shipperqueen93 from the bottom of my heart; I wouldn't have been able to finish this without your help and ideas and encouragement!!! I am sorry for being late, and I thank you for giving me a second chance. :-)
> 
> And without much ado - here is my last-minute, mere-hours-before-the-deadline, as-carefully-as-can-be-put-together attempt at a historical fan fiction featuring our two OUAT favorites: Rumple and Belle - along with a few other characters!! I do hope I did them some justice! :-)
> 
> Not beta'd, so please forgive me for any mistakes!! :-)

_He was sure the fates had cursed him since the moment of his conception._

_Ruaraidh Sangster’s life was built on a six-mile rocky path of thorns and landslides._

_First, his mother died in childbirth._

_Second, his father left him at an orphanage when he was 8 years old._

_Third, he was raised by cruel headmasters and coldhearted nuns, and forced to work in the dark, strange place of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory._

_Fourth, he married a sailor’s daughter who rejected him after an accident that crippled his foot, earning him the cruel nickname “Rumplestiltskin”._

_Fifth, his wife left him and his 7-year-old son for a charming, adventurous sea captain._

_And sixth: Rumple had been working in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory for 32 years, gained a promotion as the supervisor of the 8 th Floor, and still could barely make wages to feed himself and his son for a week._

_But heaven be damned if Rumple was going to throw in the last towel and give up on his own existence, for there was nothing better than coming home at the end of the day and seeing his son’s bright smile. His Beathan was truly the only reason Rumple kept limping and limping through life, no matter how difficult it got._ Do everything for Bae, _he reminded himself every morning as he awoke._

_And so Rumple kept carrying on._

* * *

 

 ** _September 1910_**  

“ _Bae, get up!_ ”

Groaning, Bae lolled his head away from the sudden light in the room. “Papa, what time is it?” He half-whined, covering his eyes.

His frantic father sighed in mild dismay, “It’s your first day of work, son,” he reminded urgently, shaking Bae’s arm gently.

 _New job…school finished…bellhop…Royal Manhattan Inn…_ Bae’s lanky body flew out of bed in almost an instant, earning a surprised sputter and a chuckle from his father. “I have to go get ready for work, Papa! I’m late!” He shouted, tugging on his socks and stumbling into the tiny bathroom adjoining his and his father’s room. Then he realized his socks were dirty and he’d forgotten his day clothes.

15 minutes later, Bae glided out of his room, dressed in his nicest pair of trousers and dress shirt with his faded vest sporting a little hole in one pocket. “Do I look fine, Papa? I must look like I deserve the job. Mr. Howard was very reluctant to hire me, you see.”

Ruaraidh Sangster’s bright, dimpled gifted to his son was all Bae needed to see to know that he was ready. “Have a good day at work, my son.” He lifted his arms for a hug, and Bae willingly went in, not quite caring that he was almost a man. “You, too, Papa.” He shot a cheeky grin, grabbed his satchel, and fairly flew out of their apartment.

_Royal Manhattan Inn, here I come!_

The walk from the apartment to the inn wasn’t very long, which Bae was thankful for. He went around to the back where all the maids and busboys went in for their work shifts, pushed his satchel into a nook in the changing room, and pulled on his new sleek trousers and green uniform shirt, impressed with the shiny gold buttons and the fringe around the shoulder caps.

Geppetto, the head supervisor of the concierge, nodded his head in greeting as Bae rushed past him to the front of the lobby where he was to salute guests and take their bags.

The first few hours were a bit slow, with the early morning and all that, but Bae made a friend with a busboy named Archie, an older man with red hair and a slightly nervous streak. But Archie was kind to Bae and helped him around the hotel when they carried guests’ luggage in and out of the building.

The lunch hour passed, but busboys did not have lunch. It didn’t matter to Bae, because lunch was a rarity for him and his father. What mattered was the sun beating down on his head as he tried not to squirm uncomfortably under his warm uniform. _Would people mind so terribly if I just took off my uniform for a minute? I’m melting in here,_ he complained to himself, and was just about to consider the risk of losing his first job by removing his jacket for the sake of cool air when a sudden hand clapped on his shoulder. He stiffened, fighting against the urge to flee.

“So, this is the new busboy!” A voice boomed, and Bae looked up to see a tall, portly man dressed in the most elegant black suit and top hat he had ever seen. Bald and squinty, the man did not seem particularly friendly, but he was clearly making an attempt to not scare Bae off. “He’s smaller than I expected, but I trust that you’ve been making him useful around here, Hopper?”

“Oh, y-yes, sir. He is quite st-stronger than he looks, I-I assure you, Mr. Tailler.” Hopper stuttered, bowing his head repeatedly in respect. Bae pushed back the flare of resentment against rich people and how all of them so constantly looked down at and mistreated poor people –

“Oh, Papa, stop glaring at Mr. Hopper like so,” a voice like singing bells came from around Mr. Tailler, and a petite, beautiful brunette sashayed up the inn steps to smile warmly at Archie. “Don’t mind Father, Mr. Hopper. He just doesn’t like the heat; makes him all itchy in his suit.” She giggled.

“Isabelle, _please_.” Mr. Tailler’s face turned a shade of tomato red, and he pushed against Bae to enter the cool building. It was then Bae realized he had left a large suitcase at his feet.

Bae lugged it up and turned to follow after him, only to bump into Miss Tailler’s long blue satin gown, stepping on the lacy ends and ripping it. “ _Oh!_ ” She gasped, looking down at her elegance while Bae stepped back, mortified.

This was it. Only halfway through his first day, and his job had gone down the dumbwaiter. “Miss Tailler, I am _so sorry_ – “ he stammered, looking furtively from Miss Tailler’s surprised face to Archie’s horror-stricken gawk at the scene before him.

But a melodious titter from Miss Tailler brought Bae back to her attention, and she only smiled, waving a gloved, nonchalant hand. “Oh, it’s okay! There’s no harm done; believe me. It’s just a dress, and I have too many of them, to be honest with you! What’s your name, sir?”

 _Sir?_ Bae’s insides jumped a happy jig at the respected title, but he composed himself and just stood up a little taller. “My name’s Beathan Sangster, ma’am, and thank you for being so understanding. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s his first day, you see, Miss Tailler,” Archie offered, a statement that might secure Bae’s job even further from being demolished.

Miss Tailler nodded, her mouth still upturned in a transfixing, genuine smile, “Well, I hope you are having a good first day, Mr. Sangster. This inn is one of the best places for holidays, so I daresay you will enjoy it very much during Christmastime.”

“I look forward to it, then, ma’am!” Bae grinned at her, mentally redacting his earlier thought about how all rich people were nasty nuisances. Miss Tailler was not nasty, nor a nuisance.

“Please, call me Belle.”

Bae didn’t know why, but he just had a special feeling about this young woman.

* * *

 

“…And then she gave me _two dollars_. _Two dollars!_ Papa, it was so much and enough to last for over a week for the two of us! I tried to tell her ‘no’, but she said I was too skinny and needed to get more meat on my bones. I can’t believe I stepped on her gown and she still was so nice to me. She also insisted on calling me Bae, and I have to call her Belle.”

Rumple nodded and chuckled, listening to his son’s animated highlights of his first day at work. “Did you say this…Belle’s last name is Tailler?” He inquired as he placed vegetable stew at Bae’s side of the rickety oak table.

“Yup,” Bae nodded and immediately dug into his dinner.

“What a coincidence,” Rumple poured a steaming array of carrots, celery, and potatoes into his bowl, “So Isabelle Tailler must be the daughter of my boss. Mr. Tailler owns the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, you see.”

Bae’s eyes grew as big as saucers, but he couldn’t reply past a full mouthful of stew. Rumple chuckled, nostalgically reminiscing the year Bae was just 4 years old and had cheeks chubbier than a chipmunk’s.

“Ooo cou aak er owh.”

“Chew and swallow, son, and then repeat yourself,” Rumple chided in amusement, scooping up a spoonful of stew he hadn’t been able to make for ages.

“You could ask her out, Papa.”

Rumple startled at the idea; his son was brilliant and insightful beyond his years, and so it was a surprise that he could come up with such an absurd, ridiculous idea. He laughed and shook his head, “Oh, Bae, you and your jokes.” He ducked to eat more of his stew, reveling in the way it filled up his stomach with warmth and eased his hungry muscles.

“…I was serious, Papa.”

Rumple looked up at his son, and sure enough, his youthful face held no trace of mirth. He smiled sadly, heartbroken over his son’s naïve idealism. “Beathan…” he reached over to cover his son’s arm with his hand, “No one could ever, ever love me…as much as you love me. It just isn’t possible.”

Bae didn’t reply; he just leaned down to focus on his dinner again.

_The boy just wants a mother. I try to be his father and his mother, but he needs a woman’s touch._

Silently lamenting over Milah, Bae’s late mother, Rumple let the rest of suppertime fall into a quiet, sober silence before they retired for the night.

* * *

 

**_October 1910_ **

“And over here we have some of our more competent workers; they’re the fastest and also hold the record of the least injuries every year.” Maurice Tailler led his daughter by the elbow as he gestured at the 10, 20, 30 rows of young girls and boys and old women and men alike, slaving away at sewing machines, utterly focused while sweat poured down their brows.

Maurice seemed pleased. But Belle ached for them. Some of the girls looked much too young to be in here, and some looked too old. Where were their families? Did they even eat?? Belle doubted so from a glance at their gaunt backs and brittle-looking arms.

And yet, they slaved and slaved away.

“…How much do you pay them, Papa?” Belle inquired, looking up at her father. As beloved as he was to her, she didn’t agree with the way he handled his workplace.

“Hm?” Maurice grunted and glanced down at her, momentarily confused. “…Oh. Not much more than 5 cents a day, 30 per week. Sometimes I have to cut wages if they don’t show up to work or show enough effort. Oh, but on Christmas I always give a quarter more than the average.”

Belle gawped at the concept – _5 cents per day?! 30 per week?!_ That was utterly absurd and ridiculous. Her eyes roved across the room until she caught sight of a man in a slightly more clean work uniform; he was thin and smaller than most, but taller than her still. His hair was brown with some grey along the ends, and his eyes were –

 _Familiar._ Belle tilted her head, curious about that warm, gentle brown in those eyes – she was sure she’d seen them before.

She didn’t realize she’d been staring until the man watching the workers caught her gaze. He blinked, bewildered, and a red stain spread across his cheeks as he quickly lowered his gaze and limped his way to the other side of the room.

Belle hoped her face wasn’t as red when she tugged at her father’s arm. “Father, who’s that man watching the workers?”

“Oh,” Maurice snorted noncommittally, “That’s Rumplestiltskin, as we all call him, because he’s got a limp. Don’t think that’s his real name, though. He supervises the workers for us, because his leg is no good for his standing all day in front of the machines.” Maurice chuckled and glanced down at her, “Would you believe it – he’s been here since I was a young lad of eighteen. I’d just started courting your mother, and Rumplestiltskin comes into the factory, just a scrawny little boy, and starts working all day. I don’t think much of him, mind you, but his spinning skills were enough to nearly knock my father off his feet, and that’s how he’s been here ever since. Now he’s the supervisor for the 8th floor.”

Belle nodded quietly to acknowledge the impressive story she’d been told, but to tell the truth, an insatiable curiosity rose up in her. She couldn’t understand why, but she wanted to know more about Rumplestiltskin.

“Oi! You, girl!! Mills!!” A savage shout rose up from behind Belle, and one of Maurice’s Triangle Factory partners stormed past him to confront a dark-haired girl in the front row.

The girl had made a mistake with the seaming of a white shirtwaist, and she clearly knew it as she braced herself, petrified and ready for the upcoming blow. To Belle’s horror, she realized Mr. Hobnob was about to assault the little girl. “No!” She cried out, lunging after him, but Maurice held her back. “Stay back, Belle,” he snapped, “Those machines are dangerous and might set off any minute. Besides, Mills knows better than to make yet another mistake. We warned her of this.”

“This isn’t right!” Belle argued, struggling in Maurice’s grip. “Attacking people isn’t going to teach them anything! Let me – “

A _crack_ and a _thud_ silenced the whole room, and one could tell that every single worker wanted to stop and look, but stopping would just mess everything up. Wide-eyed and tense, each worker kept their eyes on their machine and kept sewing on.

“Of course, only a coward would be foolish to step into my way.” Mr. Hobnob sneered, glaring down at the floor, obscured from Belle’s view over all the tables. But the Mills girl appeared unharmed. Instead, she stared down at the floor in fright and concern.

A hand came up to clench at the table, between Mills’ place and another worker, a blonde girl around Mills’ age. The blonde kept glancing over at Mills and clearly thought to shift away slightly so Rumplestiltskin could get up again. Belle gasped softly at the bright mark on his sallow cheek; he’d taken the blow for the Mills girl. How _is that cowardly?_

“B-begging your pardon,” Rumple kept his eyes on the floor, just as nervous as the little girls beside him, but he still shielded Mills from Hobnob. “But I just can’t tolerate people striking my workers…especially girls much younger than my own son. Regina is new. She is still learning English. She needs patience.”

Hobnob scoffed, looking up and down at Rumplestiltskin. “And pansy niceties are the reason why you can’t keep a wife.”

“Not nice!” Anger flashed across Regina’s face as she leaned around him to glare at Hobnob. “Mister not nice!”

“I’ll show you what _nice_ means, you little – “ Hobnob growled, raising a threatening finger at her.

“All right, that’s enough, Hobnob,” Maurice shook his head and waved over his partner, much to Belle’s annoyed relief. “I think she gets it for now. Get back to work, Mills!”

Belle held back an angry rebuke at her father for allowing cruelty happen in this workplace, but the sight of Rumplestiltskin limping away to his corner of the room beckoned her, oddly enough.

“Let’s go, Isabelle,” Maurice tapped her elbow and inclined his head towards the exit door.

“…Give me a moment, Papa. I’ll be right behind you. I just…I just want to make sure the little girl’s okay.” Belle knew she couldn’t mention the real reason why she wanted to stay for a bit longer; her father was overprotective of her and expected her to accept Gaston LeStrange’s marriage proposal.

Maurice smiled thinly, a sliver of sadness sparking in his eyes. “So kind, my daughter. Just like your sainted mother.” He nodded and left the room with Mr. Hobnob and Mr. Beeves.

Once she was sure they were out of earshot, Belle rushed over to Regina and her blonde companion. “Are you…are you all right?” She asked, feeling guilty and interrupting their work and the fact that she had an ulterior motive for approaching them.

The blonde girl was the first to look up quickly at Belle before turning back to the _clack-clack-clack_ of the machine. “I’m fine, miss,” she replied, bewildered at Belle’s concern. Her heart crumpled up a little at the fact that the blonde girl must not face enough kind people in her life. “What’s your name?”

“Emma, miss.”

“Okay, Emma. Thank you.” Belle smiled and looked over at Regina, who was eyeing her curiously. “And…you? You’re Regina?” Belle nodded at her, “If you don’t mind my asking…are you from Italy? Your accent…it’s different.”

Regina nodded, her dark eyes twinkling with appraisal. “ _Sona_ Regina. _Venga dall'Italia_. Yes, Italy, yes.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” Belle gushed, “I’ve never been out of America before. What is it like?”

Regina’s eyes were back on her machine, her hands carefully maneuvering the seams of the waistcoat, but she seemed receptive to Belle’s conversation making when she opened her mouth to reply. “Italy…” she trailed off as she sensed a presence behind her. Her lips clamped shut and she promptly ignored Belle, but she noticed that the young girl didn’t tremble at all.

Rumplestiltskin stood behind Regina and looked over her to make sure she was doing the job correctly and remarked, “Good work, Regina, good work,” and then he turned to Belle.

“Miss…?” Rumplestiltskin gazed down at her uncertainly, but the softness of his eyes turned her speechless. All her life, Belle had been pampered, coddled, and looked down at by all men, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t look at her as if she was an object or a person below him.

Realizing he was waiting for a reply, she stammered, “Oh!! B-Belle. I’m Belle.” She giggled and held out her hand.

Rumplestiltskin seemed amazed that she would offer her hand in greeting, but he hesitantly accepted it nonetheless. “M-Miss Tailler. My son has t-told me about you.”

“Your son?” Belle repeated, feeling like she’d met him before.

“Bae.” Rumplestiltskin smiled fondly.

Belle’s eyes widened as recognition struck her. “So _that’s_ where I’ve seen those eyes!” She blurted out, delighted.

“…Oh? Oh, yes.” Rumplestiltskin nodded quickly, his face turning a light tinge of rose pink. “My son…he’s not overly fond of rich people, but you have won his favor. That’s not an easy thing to do, you see,”

Impulsively, Belle took hold of his hand in hers. “I can tell that you are a wonderful father from the way your son treated me yesterday. He was so respectful and kind and funny; you must be very proud of him.”

The poor man seemed to be at a loss of words for a long moment, all the while staring into her eyes as he let his hands be held in hers. “…Uh. Thank you. I am.” He replied in a croak, as if he had a lump in his throat. He lowered his gaze to the floor. Belle beamed and squeezed his hands, fully aware of the fact that she was crossing boundaries, but she didn’t care anymore.

Subsequently, Regina and Emma turned around to glance at them. Emma smirked, mischief glinting in her eyes. Regina bit her lip, clearly amused. Rumplestiltskin took notice, clasped his hands around his back, and sent them a pointed look, though it was good-humored. Emma and Regina quickly whirled around, but not before Belle caught their stifled giggles. Belle smiled slightly at how Rumplestiltskin’s coworkers clearly respected and adored him.

A hand tugged out of her hands – though she sensed some reluctance – and Rumplestiltskin smiled albeit shyly at her, “Ah, yes – Miss Tailler, I had to come over to tell you to please…well – what I mean is – it – it’s perfectly all right if you – uh – “

“He wants to tell you that you’re very nice to check on us and chat, but now isn’t really the time. We can get in trouble for talking while we’re supposed to be working.” Emma informed her loudly enough for everyone to hear, and Regina coughed, which suspiciously sounded like actual laughing.

“ _Miss Swan_ …” Mortification shadowed Rumplestiltskin’s face as he reproached his young charge, but Emma simply turned up an impertinent nose and a smug grin at him before returning to her sewing.

Belle laughed outright, not even in the least offended. “Oh, it’s okay, Mr. Sangster. You’re right – Emma’s right. I really shouldn’t have interrupted them, or you. But…” a strange timidity threatened to overtake her. Inhaling to rediscover her courage, she assured, “…I just wanted to let you know that I don’t think you’re a coward. At all.”

With that, she smiled at him and backed away until she reached the end of the row and left the room hurriedly before her father took notice of her long absence.

* * *

 

**_December 1910_ **

Before Rumple knew it, Belle had snuck a way into her son’s heart – and maybe his own. Every week, Belle frequented the Royal Manhattan Inn to greet Bae and engage in friendly conversation – and to give him lunch, along with $20 for supper. Rumple implored his son to keep rejecting Belle’s reckless generosity, but according to Bae, Belle just didn’t know what _no_ meant.

(And Bae always made sure to tell him that Belle wanted to visit him so badly too, but her father wouldn’t allow it. Rumple would just huff and turn away so his son wouldn’t see his crimson cheeks.)

And so when the holidays came around, Rumple casually – with some of his usual nervousness – asked Bae what he thought Belle would like for Christmas.

The look on his son’s face was enough to put him into an eternally flustered state.

Two days before Christmas, Rumple and Bae slaved away at their posts, looking forward to the only 2 free days they earned each year – with the exception of New Year’s Day. That same day, Rumple passed onto Bae a gift for Belle – something he had saved up carefully with last month’s wages.

At the day’s end, when Bae came home to Rumplestiltskin sitting in his raggedy armchair, Rumple perked up with a hopeful shine in his eyes. “Did she…did she like it?” He queried anxiously.

Bae shook off his coat and scarf – both lovingly spun and knit by his father – and smiled secretly at Rumple. He narrowed his eyes, wondering at his son’s devilish behavior. “Sh-she liked The Hound of the Baskervilles, yes?”

“Oh, yes, Papa,” Bae laughed, “She was so very delighted, and she wanted to give you something, too.”

“Me?” Rumple squeaked, and coughed to clear his tight throat.

Bae said nothing and leaned down to kiss Rumple’s cheek. “She gave me a kiss to pass it on to you.”

Rumple was certain he did nothing but stutter and stammer all night long.

* * *

 

**_January 1911_ **

The new year came, and Belle was certain by now that her feelings for her friend Rumple were new – they were nothing alike to her affection for Bae, whom she viewed as a younger brother (she’d say son, but they were very close in age…)

And so when she ran across Regina and Emma in the market, she waved them over and chattered amicably with them before giving Emma a letter to give to Rumple. Since she hadn’t seen him since New Year’s Eve, she thought exchanging letters would be an ingenious way to get to know each other – and her father wouldn’t know.

But Regina’s knowing smirk at her was enough to make her a perpetual blushing mess for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

**_February 1911_ **

Rumple paused and leaned heavily on his wooden cane as he observed Emma staring up at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory building. It was early in the morning, and if one looked down the streets of Manhattan into the horizon, the pink streak of sunrise could be seen.

“Emma,” Rumple greeted his young friend, a headstrong, feisty girl who he’d be proud to call a daughter. “Is there something wrong?” He saw her troubled face, much paler than usual.

Frowning slightly, Emma looked down, avoiding his gaze. “Is it…is it silly for me to feel like something’s bad going to happen?”

Rumple squinted up at the dark, forbidding building he’d practically grown up in. “…Not at all. I get that feeling all too often. It must be because we were not born into privilege and kindness, my dear. It is hard for us to expect such good fortunes, and much too easy to expect bad ones.”

Emma nodded ruefully, finally craning her neck to meet her supervisor’s warm gaze. “My mom would disagree. She’s always talking about hope. It gets annoying, after a while.”

Rumple snorted, patting Emma on the shoulder affectionately. “Perhaps. But your mother might be a much happier person with that sort of insight about the world.”

“…Yeah.” The subtly evil undertone returned to Emma unexpectedly, “Kinda like the way Miss Belle makes you a happier person.”

“E- _excuse me_?!” Rumple spluttered, eyes widening in horror. How did they notice…?

“Oh, nothing.” Emma shrugged and sauntered past Rumple, smiling evilly. Rumple didn’t know who had the eviler smiles – Emma or Regina.

“You keep that up, young lady, and I’ll tell Bae you’re the one who stole his dreamcatcher he got from his Algonquin friends!” Rumple attempted one of his many feeble threats that no doubt garnered laughter from his young charges.

Emma mock-gasped, then pouted, “I’m just trying to make him notice me.”

Rumple smiled at her. “Dear child, you don’t need to steal things from him to make him notice you. He notices already, believe me.”

Emma crossed her arms. “Can we make a deal?”

“I’d love to,” Rumple drawled dryly as he limped up the building steps with Emma.

“Stop teasing me about Bae, and I’ll stop teasing you about Miss Belle.”

“Agreed.”

“…I can’t promise anything about Regina, though. I’ve been teaching her… _certain phrases_ in English that she’s excited to say to you today.”

“…Dear girl, you are simply an _imp_!”

* * *

 

**_Early March 1911_ **

“Hello, Rumple.”

Rumple jumped slightly, then realized the melodious bells of that voice could only belong to –

“ _Belle._ ” He breathed, forgetting to address her properly. Not that she’d care, anyhow. She called him Rumple even without asking.

To his complete shock, Belle glided forward and strung her arms around his neck. They were in a very public marketplace, and Bae was somewhere around the corner with Emma. He was _not_ in the mood to hear their hysterical ribbing.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you since early February.” Belle babbled, in which Rumple found completely adorable. He grinned at her, his spirits lifted up after a long, hard weekend of being yelled at by Mr. Tailler. “I’m doing quite all right, Belle. And you?”

“I’m doing quite fine,” Belle pulled away to a respectable distance, much to Rumple’s relief (and disappointment). “Just whittling away my days as a factory owner’s daughter. It’s not as quite as glamorous as Bae might make it seem, you know.”

Rumple chuckled, “Yes. He tells me of your daring escapades and dreams to travel to other countries. I do remember you interrupting a young girl at work to ask her about Italy…”

Belle rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?” She snickered.

Rumple just grinned teasingly. “And what brings you to the marketplace today?”

Belle opened her mouth to reply, but a pompous, booming voice rang across the street. “Isabelle! Quit talking to the factory cripple and get over here; we’re getting late for the cocktail dinner!”

Her eyes, a bright shade of sky blue, shuttered as an uncharacteristically irritated frown crossed her face. “Coming, Gaston.” She muttered. She shot Rumple an apologetic glance, “I’m so sorry, Rumple; I really have to go…” she waved at him and flounced across the street as gracefully as a regal horse.

Rumple’s quickly beating heart came to a full stop, and then it seemed to drop a little in his chest.

_I may not be a coward, but I am most definitely a fool._

_A fool in love._

* * *

 

**_March 25, 1911_ **

_The day was coming to a close._

_And all of a sudden –_

_Screams, frantic footsteps, wailing._

_Fire, fire, fire!_

_Smoke billowed up in the cramped, airtight quarters of the building._

_Windows shattered, bodies falling, skirts and pants caught on fire._

_A stray cigarette had caused the inferno._

Bae felt like his heart had jumped into his throat as he stared in pale horror at the smoke coming up from 23 – 29 Washington Place.

 _Papa! Papa! Papa!_ His heart wailed.

And not even the comfort of Archie’s arms clasped around his shoulder could stay his fears.

_The doors to the stairwells and exits were locked. Tailler didn’t want thieves or slackers in his building._

_But now they all were stuck._

_Belle coughed, smoke stinging her eyes and invading her lungs. Her father was nowhere to be seen, and she couldn’t hear anything over the frantic din._

_But all she could think of was Rumple, and Regina, and Emma._

_And all of those innocent souls in her father’s greedy kingdom._

The urgent blare of the fire alarm whooped as the horses galloped the fire engine towards the factory. Visitors of the inn gathered outside to gawk at the chaos before them.

And Bae just fell to his knees, praying hard for Emma, for Regina, for Belle.

For his papa.

_Desperately, Rumple ushered his workers down the flimsy, fragile single fire escape they had, praying that it would provide safe escape. He nudged each worker into the stairwell, one by one._

_“_ Signore _Rumple!” Regina cried between coughs, “_ Signore _R-Rumple!”_

_“We mustn’t talk, Regina,” Rumple barked urgently, “Keep your mouth and nose closed as much as possible!”_

_Regina shook her head and jabbed her finger towards the factory rows. “T-telephone! Belle call, ten floor! She warn them – now she gone!”_

_Horror stabbed Rumple in the gut as he understood what Regina meant. “I’ll go get her,” he jerked his head towards the stairwell, “You get out of here, Regina!”_

_“_ Belle! _” Rumple screamed. But all he could see was smoke and flame._

He knew his legs would ache horribly later, but he didn’t care. Bae made a mad dash for the factory. He would save all of his friends, even if it killed him. He would save his papa.

He raced towards the slowly collapsing Asch building, but firemen quickly held him back.

“Let me go!” Bae shouted savagely, kicking at the air, “My papa’s in there! Let me go!”

“Steady there, son!” One of the firemen held him back fast, “We’re taking care of it; stay out of harm’s way!”

“ _Bae!_ ” A girl’s scream rang into his ears, and Bae turned to see Emma hobbling towards him while half-carrying a disoriented Regina. “ _Emma!_ ” Bae exclaimed, “ _Regina!_ ” He ran towards them and wrapped them into a tight, desperate hug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m – I’m fine,” Emma coughed, “B-but I think Regina needs water or something!”

Bae helped Emma lead Regina out of the growing horde of horrified onlookers and firemen and took her to a granite fountain with stone angels pouring water out of their shell-styled pitchers. Emma immediately let go of Regina to scoop up water and pour some down Regina’s throat. Both girls were grey and sooty all over and smelled of smoke and grime and sweat.

After a few moments, Regina inhaled in a shaky breath. “S…Signor Rumple…”

Bae’s ears perked up at the mention, “Papa? Do you know if he’s still in there?” He grabbed the girl’s arm, trying not to grip too tightly, but _he needed answers_.

Regina nodded tiredly, “He…he help Miss Belle…Miss Belle gone…”

Bae and Emma glanced at each other in perplexed concern. _What was going on?_

 _“_ Belle! _” Rumple screamed, his throat becoming hoarser and smokier by the second._

_And yet there was no sign of her._

_“_ Belle, _” Rumple whispered, his heart falling apart at the thought that she might be…dead. And now the smoke had made its way into his lungs, filling him with a strange, achy sleepiness…_

Ooof! _He tripped over something lumpy and silky blue. Clambering around on the dusty floor, Rumple realized Belle was right beneath him. The unconscious woman groaned and her head lolled back, much to Rumple’s relief. Alive._

 _“_ Belle! _” He turned himself over to kneel over Belle and lift her up, slapping her face, “_ Wake up! _You mustn’t sleep now, my love._ Stay awake! _”_

_“…’Umple?” Belle mumbled, her eyes struggling to open, her hands reaching up to touch him. “Wh-what’s happening?”_

_“There’s a fire. I’m getting you out of here.” Rumple let his cane clatter on the floor and hoisted Belle up into his arms, straining to jog across the floor with a gimp leg and a nearly deadweight in his hands._

Sssshhhhrrrr – CRASH!

_The hinges of the door out of the factory room gave away, and its angry orange flames engulfed the doorframe, blocking their escape. Rumple cursed._

_The noise revived Belle, and she gazed up at Rumple, half-dazed. “The window,” she coughed scratchily. “Jump out…of the window.”_

Are you crazy?! _Rumple’s panicked brain asked her. But…was there really any other choice? Any minute now, the floor itself would give away, and then Rumple and Belle would truly be buried in rubble and ashes._

_They both knew that if they died, they would want to be recognized by kin and loved ones._

_Rumple peered through the yellow heat and black clouds, saw a glint of white, and ran towards it – then hesitated._

“Anything’s possible, m’boy,” Eight-year-old Rumple’s father declared, ruffling his fine brown hair. “Anything’s possible, if you just believe.”

_And so Rumple pressed a quick kiss on Belle’s soft lips, and lifted one leg to step precariously on the window’s edge…_

_He leaped like he was going to fly._

* * *

  ** _June 1911_**

“ _Welcome home, Papa!_ ” Bae’s enthusiastic holler was the first thing Rumple heard as he crossed the threshold of his apartment. To his pleased surprise, there was Archie, Emma, Regina, and their families cheering by a table of cake, punch, and refreshments.

Bae ran towards him and enveloped him into a tight embrace. Belle laughed and let herself be wrapped into Rumple and Bae’s arms. Rumple wasn’t sure of what to make of this – but he knew it wasn’t a bad thing at all.

“So, what did the doctors say?” Bae demanded. His son had been faithfully visiting him every day on end, but in the recent week he had been tied for much of the time at the inn. Belle had her share of time in the hospital; and she and Rumple visited each other whenever they could as soon as they could get out of bed by themselves.

Maurice Tailler and his partners now were in deep water, doused in there by activists against factory labor conditions. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire had taken over 140 lives, more women than men. Emma, Regina, and Rumple had lost most of the people from their floor; they were known as “The Miracle Survivors of Floor 8”.

Much to Maurice’s chagrin but resigned acceptance, Belle now refused any more involvement with his factory businesses and deftly turned down Gaston’s marriage proposal. It was then when Belle confessed of her feelings for Rumple. Maurice, feeling indebted to Belle’s heroics and near-death in the fire, gave his blessing.

The problem was…Rumple still hadn’t done anything yet. It was disheartening, because Belle could tell he had the same feelings for her. He still thought of himself unworthy.

She was shaken out of her stupor by a smirking Bae, Emma, and Regina, who all towered over her but were clearly younger than her. Belle jammed her fists on her hips. “What are you three up to?!”

“Oh – nothing really,” Bae shrugged much too casually. Emma giggled and nudged him. “You should tell her what your idea was.”

Regina nodded evilly, “Yes. Idea very good.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “ _What_ idea, Beathan?” Not even her silly little fantasies about being Rumple’s wife and Bae’s stepmother could probably prepare her life for _this_ boy.

Bae’s eyes shifted furtively to the left as his lips disappeared between his teeth as he suppressed a chortle. Regina scowled momentarily, then piped up – but not within Rumple’s earshot – “Kiss him.”

Belle took a double take. “ _What?!_ ”

Regina prodded her with an insistent look. “True love. Rumple and Belle. Kiss him, and true love. Happy ever after.”

Emma grinned at her best friend, and then glanced pointedly at Belle. “You heard her. Mister Rumple is not one to initiate anything…so you gotta do it. I’ve seen you; you’re pretty brave and bold. So what’s holding you back??”

“Yeah, Belle. What’s holding you back?” Bae teased.

“You’re impossible,” Belle huffed and turned on her heel to visit Emma’s mother by the punch table.

A thought struck her right then. What if…what if she doesn’t do it now? What then? Was she to spend the rest of her life pining, while Rumple may never do anything but love her from a distance? A lump popped into Belle’s throat as she entertained the thought with dread.

Rumple was standing with Archie near the door, listening raptly to the doorman’s animated stories about Bae’s exceptional talents.

Resolve took over. _If I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it tomorrow._ Hitching in a deep breath, Belle practically marched over to Rumple, took hold of his elbow, and smiled cheerfully at Archie. “Hello, Archie. I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but may I please have a moment alone with Rumple?”

Strangely enough, Archie seemed very pleased with her request. He nodded, chirping, “But of course! I’ll tell you more about what happened on Saturday, Rumple – take your time with Belle.” He rushed over to Emma’s mother.

“Can we go out in the hall?” Belle pleaded quietly, “Where it’s quiet and private? I know that’s not exactly appropriate, but…”

“Certainly.” Rumplestiltskin answered, looking far too serious about this.

The hallway outside the apartment was uninhabited and silent, much to Belle’s relief. She turned to face Rumple, and very gently took his hands into hers. She didn’t want to scare him away. “Rumple.”

“Yes, Belle?” Rumple gazed down at her with his soft eyes warming her to the very core.

She sighed.”Rumple…I…I just don’t know where to begin.”

Rumple shook his head, endearingly oblivious to the whole thing, “Tell me; you can tell me anything. You know that.”

One look at Rumple’s genuinely open expression was all it took for Belle to speak up.

“I love you.”

A short gasp escaped the spinner’s mouth, and he nearly stepped back in shock.

Belle didn’t wait for a reply. Let him reject her later rather than sooner. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, leaving a lingering kiss.

Rumple’s eyes opened as soon as Belle’s lips left his. She bit her lip, still tasting the sweetness of his mouth, still sure of herself, but not as sure as before, either.

A long moment passed between them, and Belle was about to resign herself to awkwardness and walk away – when Rumple caught her hands, and this time, _he_ held them.

And this time, _he_ leaned in for a second kiss. An elated sound bubbled up in Belle’s throat as she let Rumple wrap his arms around her waist and pull her into his secure embrace.

_Finally._

…In the meantime, unbeknownst to Rumple and Belle, three young imps were peeking around the corner, and crowing silently at their success.

Yes, _their_ success. They’d been planning this all along, after all! (You _did_ notice that, did you??)

* * *

  __ _And there has been no other tale as old as time,_

_No other song as old as rhyme,_

_Not other true love such as Rumplestiltskin and Belle’s…_

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to research about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, go on ahead; it is a very interesting story!!! :-D 
> 
> But I did take some liberties with tweaking the facts, for instance: the stairwell Emma and Regina escaped through - in actual history, it collapsed and killed 20 people on it. :-( I didn't want Regina or Emma to die, so it didn't happen in this story. Also I'm pretty sure there wasn't a fountain near the Asch building, but I added that for plot means, so . . . LOL.
> 
> And oh, that infamous kiss before falling to their deaths . . . that actually happened in history. But this is fiction, so I say they get to live. :-D
> 
> Also, a bookkeeper is recorded as the one who warned the 10th floor of the fire on the 8th floor, so guess who warned the people on the 10th floor?? Belle, that's who!! :-D
> 
> Also, some of you might wonder why I also included Regina in the story. Well, historically, young Italian girls during the early 19th century were factory workers. Regina is part Italian because of Lana Parrilla's Puerto Rican and Italian heritages. So there's that. :-) (Plus, I'm kinda biased; Regina's my favorite - same as Bae. ;-D )
> 
> Comments? Reviews? Criticism? Want to scold me for being late? Want to send me hugs? You're welcome!! :-)
> 
> Charlotte, I hope this is to your liking!! :-) Oh, and in case I didn't already tell you - my name's Jocelyn, and I'm thepurplemadness on Tumblr. Hi!!! :-D


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